


Little Knick Knacks

by AshWinterGray



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Back Pain, Childhood Memories, Fluff and Angst, Letters, Memories, Misunderstandings, birthday gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27904459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshWinterGray/pseuds/AshWinterGray
Summary: Alfred managed to throw his back, and Jason found himself willingly volunteered to help Alfred with his annual cleaning of the attic while the man recovers. There are several revelations made.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 18
Kudos: 171





	Little Knick Knacks

“Thank you, Master Jason,” Alfred sipped his tea as Jason came down the stairs to the attic with the last few boxes. “I still cannot fathom why my back is reacting the way it is. I don’t know how I would have finished the attic had you not been in town.”

Jason could think of a few things to say in retort to that statement, but there was no reason to ruin Alfred’s pride after he had thrown out his back. The man was already suffering as it was. And as Alfred said, Jason had been in town when Alfred had thrown out his back, and with most of the family dealing with something or another, it had only been natural for Tim to call Jason to ask for the help Alfred needed.

“You’d have figured it out,” Jason dismissed Alfred’s praise. “What’s in these things anyways, Alfie? Some of them were pretty heavy.”

“All sorts of things, my boy,” Alfred smiled. “The three you just brought down are full of photo albums I would like to update. Masters Duke, Damian, Harper, Cullen, and Cassandra only have one album at the moment, but I plan to add to the collection as the years go by. I…took to placing them in the attic after your death, Master Jason. Neither Master Bruce, nor myself could bare to look at them at the time, and I eventually brought myself to start the hobby again after Master Bruce adopted Miss Cassandra and Master Tim. Would you be so kind as the bring those boxes closer to the bed.”

Jason did as he was told, staring wide-eyed at the albums, all dusty and some of them dated. The one on top was clearly of a young Bruce with Thomas and Martha. This must have been a habit Alfred had started decades ago. The answer as to why came when Jason noticed the one under that had a picture of Julia Pennyworth, Alfred’s daughter, on the cover. Poor man wasn’t even allowed to raise his own daughter, so he had taken to photos so he could know her.

“There is a box under my bed, Master Jason, would you fetch it for me? It holds the most current photos.”

Jason did as asked, noting that the box was rather small, and given how often Alfred cleaned the attic (twice a year), the stack of photos Alfred pulled out was rather sad. Not wanting to be reminded that the family had sort of pulled away, Jason took to looking at the other boxes.

“Ah, that one may uspet you, Master Jason,” Alfred motioned to a much larger, heavier box that Jason had been about to open. “It’s a collection of gifts that Master Bruce and myself liked to buy every year. I make it a habit to clean them. Perhaps it’s best to wait on that one.”

“Gifts?” Jason questioned “For who?”

Alfred’s silence had been answer enough. His actions grew slower, and his thumb lazily flipped through the stack until he found an picture of the right grandchild for the right book, and his movement were jagged as he placed said photo into the correct book.

Alfred never did anything lazily.

Jason debated for a moment, staring at the box that felt like a personal offense. But then he shook his head and opened it. The first thing Jason noted, and what was on top, made Jason’s breathing hitch. It was _Pride and Prejudice._ But not just any copy. It was his mother’s copy. Catherine’s copy; as was inscribed on the inside cover. A letter also rested inside the cover of the worn, well-loved copy of his mother’s favorite book. With Bruce’s handwriting.

_My dear Jay,_

_I know that you will never see this, that your life was taken too soon, but I wanted you to know that I remembered. I remembered how you talked of your mother, of Catherine. I remember your love of this story. It took me months to track down, but I found out, lad. I planned to give it to you on your birthday, but…_

_That’s my fault. I failed you, lad. More than I ever thought possible. And I suppose, deep down, there is a hope. Something. I keep expecting to find you bouncing on my bed, telling me you need to go to school. I keep expecting to see you studying only to glance up and give me that bright smile. I keep expecting to hear your laugh as you pull a stunt off a rough._

_I wanted you to have this, lad. I wanted you to have your mother, even if it ached inside me that Catherine had you in a way I never could. I had hoped to give it to you after Ethiopia, but that was where I failed you for the final time._

_There is a kid now, going out in your costume, saying Batman needs a Robin. But I don’t **want** another Robin. I want my son. And as I write this, I want you to know that I tried to kill the Joker. I failed once again Jay. I failed you. I know, deep down, you would not have wanted me to follow that path of darkness. That the moment I slip, the moment I take a life, I will have lost everything that made me your dad._

_I’m so sorry, lad. And I love you. Even if I have no right to._

Jason sucked in a breath. His brain wasn’t quiet processing the letter, but he knew the last part was important, and a puzzle was slowly correcting itself in his mind. But it wasn’t working correctly, his brain, so he distracted himself by looking in the box.

Alfred had added a hand-made recipe book. There were custom made notebooks and fancy pens that Jason had liked (still liked). A snow globe of the library in Paris that Jason had wanted to visit was carefully wrapped so it wouldn’t break. A wonder woman blanket lay at the bottom. A set of car keys too.

Alfred’s smile was sad as Jason looked back at his grandfather. Scrubbing his eyes, Jason stood up and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. The letter had been sealed, unopen, even by Alfred. He doubted Alfred knew what it said, or that the page was stained with tears, or that Bruce’s normally flourished handwriting was shaky and uneasy.

“Perhaps you should look in the chest you brought down, Master Jason,” Alfred motioned to the large black trunk that had been the first thing Alfred requested. “That, my dear boy, belongs to Master Bruce.”

Eyeing the trunk, Jason crossed the room, taking the spare key from Alfred. Jason’s hands kept shaking as slid the key into the lock and opened it with a click. His breathing hitched as he opened the lid. Inside were…useless objects.

Report cards. Broken pencils, pens, and paintbrushes. A broken camera. Ripped pictures. Old shirts and sweaters. A few stuffed animals. Worn photographs. Ripped book pages. A skateboard wheel. A single ballet shoe. A few certificates. A boxed pregnancy test. Sunglasses. Keychains. A broken key. Newspaper clippings. A library card.

“Alfie?” Jason turned to the old butler.

“Master Bruce made it habit after he adopted you,” Alfred gave a sad, yet calm smile. Reminiscent was the word that came to mind. “He collected things that reminded him of each of you. Things he felt none of you would miss, but still held some weight for him.”

The things Jason had initially taken note of were all on top. As he moved things about, he found more and more knick knacks filling the trunk. They were all well cared for. All well loved, even though some of the items were broken or damaged. It certainly explained the footprints in the dust that Jason had noticed earlier. Bruce had clearly been up to the attic several times.

“Master Jason?”

Jason was crying again as he looked up to Alfred, and he knew it was pointless for him to wipe the tears away. It had only been twenty minutes max since he had opened the first box. Since the gift had slowly started registering in his head.

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

“Alfie-”

Jason’s voice cracked painfully as he spoke that simple name. And dang it, now was not the time for Bruce to be away for business.

“Oh, my boy,” Alfred whispered, motioning Jason towards him.

Jason raced to Alfred’s arms. Jason needed to see his dad. But that would have to wait. For now, he would settle for the arms for his grandfather.

\------------------------

Jason brought the chest to the main sitting room, continuing to help Alfred do his usual tasks and carrying all the other boxes back into the attic as he did son. So, of course, just as Jason intended, everyone else got to see the contents before Bruce got home. Cass came home first.

“Mine?” Cass frowned, holding up the ballet slipper.

“I think so,” Jason nodded to his sister. “Bruce kept as something sentimental.”

Cass’s face lit up at that.

Dick and Damian came home next. Dick’s eyes widened at the sight of both the stuffed animals and at the sight of the broken keys. His old house keys. Damian, likewise, was stunned to find the broken art tools and ripped sketch pages. Duke recognized the ripped book pages and newspaper clippings. Steph looked like the pregnancy test personally offended her, but she seemed puzzled by the keychains. Tim had taken the skateboard wheel and the camera with disbelief. Babs had been rather surprised to see the certificates.

“Bruce,” Jason shrugged at their questions. “Apparently, its his sentimental box of knick knacks.”

That left questions that Jason couldn’t answer, but over the week before Bruce came home, they would find Jason thumbing through _Pride and Prejudice,_ reading the letter over and over, or even shifting through the report cards, holding the library card, or clutching old t-shirts. It was the longest Jason had willingly been in the Manor in years.

“Jason?”

When Bruce finally came home, it was clear he had worked himself to the bone, both with WE and with the good ol’nightlife. His disbelief showed on his face more than Bruce would have ever allowed had the situation been different. But Bruce was clearly exhausted, the trunk was wide open, and Jason was reading a painfully familiar letter.

“Hey, dad. Can we talk?”

“I…yeah,” Bruce nodded. “Yeah, we can-we can talk.”

“I think you should get some sleep first, dad,” Jason chuckled, already standing to greet Bruce. “I think this is a conversation that is long overdue, and you should probably be aware when we have it.”

Alfred, now bustling about the kitchen, gave a fond smile as father and son passed by his door.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something short and fluffy


End file.
